I had been watching her as I bashed though my routine on the cross-trainer. It was a holiday week and the gym was quiet. She was a few feet away, gently rowing on the end machine. She wasn 't exactly breaking into a sweat, just maintaining a steady pace. I can't put my finger on what attracted me to her. She looked about thirty-five, and had the skin-hue and texture that has always appealed to me; but so did a lot of women.
I used to wonder how to describe this flesh quality, so that if ever I needed to I could say, "I like women with skin the colour of."...What? I was in my twenties before I knew; it was Clotted cream. Yeah, I know, not very poetic. "She had skin the colour of Clotted cream," but that was the shading I liked. I think it is the rich smooth quality of certain female flesh itself that radiates this colouring, usually at some point in the fading of an old suntan, as the natural skin colour is re-establishing itself. I do like to see it.
Her mousy blond hair was held bunched up by a long hair-clip running up center of the back of her head. Her neck was well defined and elegant. It was hard to appraise her body as she rowed. I kept looking at her, irrationally drawn to her. I don't know why. I see lots of beautiful women, fancy them, but never have this sensation about them. I am long past the day when I stare at females hoping they would look back, as they rarely acknowledge my attention. Well women under forty don't. But her presence undid something inside of me and I let it come to the surface again.
As I exercised I would look at her, then feeling rude, turn away. Eventually I was finding it hard not to turn away and she noticed. She had to mover her head to the side to see me, but she held my gaze for a few seconds. I had to divert my eyes, I felt as though I had received a deciding punch from a heavy weight boxer. I was unhinged and had to stop my workout. I got off the machine and, as I walked away, looked at her again. She looked back at me, then dropped her eyes and turned back to her rowing.
I went downstairs to the changing room, undressed and took a cold shower, then through to the pools in my trunks. I spent fifteen minutes in the spa pool then headed for the sauna room. I sat and thought about the look that she gave me. I could feel myself straining at the bit to go back and talk to her, perhaps to see if I could arrange to meet her later. I realised it was ridiculous to even imagine such a thing, I was fifty-two and married. My body was still good but my face had lived its life and it showed. And besides, I did not need the hassle a love interest would bring.
I'd had my share of affairs over the years, and so had Jean my wife, but our marriage had weathered them and we were strong together now. My family life was good and our first grandchild had just arrived, a new joy in my life, holding at bay the ennui. I had know male friends and colleagues who, at a similar age as me, had thrown all this away for some fresh flesh, some girl of no consequence. Lured away by Siren songs. They got a few months, or years at best, of their lost youth back, then found them selves ship-wrecked on the rocks of loneliness, shunned by their families. I decided not to make a fool of myself. I did not want to end my days in some seedy bed-sit.
I was alone in the sauna, so after a while I lay on my back and began to relax, enjoying the heat. Someone else entered but I did not look up.
"Do you mind if I have a drink of your water?" I sat up and looked for the owner of the singsong female voice. Shit! I thought, as I looked into the face of the woman who had been rowing. She was sitting on her towel on the bench just below me, looking up expectantly and smiling. I did not look at her eyes, so as to prevent her seeing my caught-in-the-headlights in mine. I scanned her body instead, slim, long, lithe, with small breasts. I scanned her flesh, most of it was on show and, of course, all of it the colour of clotted cream.
"Yeah, sure help yourself," I undid the plastic seal and passed the bottle to her. She put it to her mouth and drank delicately, her lips hardly touching the plastic, but brushing it lightly. She scrutinised me as she swallowed. God! She was flirting with me. I felt a desperate urge to escape.
"It's hot in here, isn 't it?" I said. "You idiot!" I thought.
She laughed and said, "The depth of your perception knows know bounds, does it? I'm off to the spa pool now, to cool down," and then, "you can join me if you like?" As she left the sauna, she looked back at me as if to say, "coming?"
I eyed her hips as she left. The sight of those creamy cheeks peeping out of bikini bottoms did it for me. I did not hesitate, I followed her to the pool. She sat down sat among the jets and bubbles. I joined her.
"Why were you looking at me when I was on the rower?"
"There was just something about you that attracted me. I couldn 't help it. You are just my type." I didn't mention the clotted cream.
"Perhaps you were thinking what it would be like if I did this to you," and without looking at me, placed her hand on my crotch and began to massage my balls and cock through my trunks, "is this what 'your type' do?"
Too shocked to answer, I looked around instead. There were two or three other people in the pool area but none were near to us. Even if someone had been close, they would not have seen her working on me through the bubbly froth. She looked ahead, her hand doing the work, her shoulders unmoving.
My cock was just beginning to awaken to her advances when the delay loop that controlled the spa turned off the bubbles. "Fuck," I thought, as she removed her hand away.
"I had a feeling you would have a nice big cock, older men usually do," she lied, thinking to please me, "I can't wait for the bubbles to start again." And they did.
Her small delicate hand in my trunks again, pulling my cock free of my waistband, her hand descended down and cupped my balls, then up onto my penis again, drawing her fingers up the shaft, on to the exposed sensitive head. Her handiwork felt exquisite among effervescent turbulence. She was skilled, knowing just the right amount of pressure to apply so as not to over excite me. Even so, I started to feel I was reaching a crescendo so I moved her hand. I didn 't want to cum in the pool. The bubbles stopped again.
